ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 363: I’m Sylvathar, Demon Lord Of Gaia Demons

"You’ve grown quite a bit sharper with that javelin of yours," Mabel remarked, glancing down at Liam. Her left hand rested on her hip while her right hand, still gripping her sword, balanced it casually on her shoulder.

Liam sat on the marble floor, his left arm resting on his raised knee while his right hand propped him up from behind. His head leaned back, breathing measured and steady. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dampening strands of his dark, red-streaked hair and causing some to cling to his face.

Their spar had been intense—not beyond his capacity, but enough to push him. The real challenge hadn’t been the spar itself but the way Mabel once again increased her strength without warning, a clear sign that there were layers to her power he had yet to see. Still, rather than frustration, it only made him more engaged.

"Yeah... thanks to you. I guess," Liam finally said, his voice calm, eyes still closed.

"You’re welcome, I guess," Mabel echoed in his tone, subtly mocking his words.

Liam opened one eye, then lifted his head to look at her. Tilting his head slightly, he smirked. "What? You want me to recite a poem of gratitude or something?"

"Well, I don’t know... should you?" Mabel replied, her mask hiding her expression, though the sarcasm in her voice was hard to miss.

Liam let out a short scoff and pushed himself up from the floor. With a flick of his hand, he recalled his javelin to his grip, the weapon flying into his left hand. He walked toward Mabel with calm, steady steps, stopping just in front of her and tilting his head up slightly to meet her gaze.

Though he rarely acknowledged it, Mabel was taller than him by a couple of inches.

"Well, allow me to thank you for helping improve my javelin skill set, Lady Mabel," he said, voice calm and composed, his red eyes locking with her hazel brown ones.

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked a few steps away from her. He stopped and pivoted to face her again.

"Now, I believe we’re due for another round. Right? You did say five sets today, and we’ve only completed three."

Mabel studied him for a moment, then sighed softly through her mask. "Yeah, you’re right. Let’s see if you manage to land a hit this time."

They both dropped into ready stances, energy shifting between them as they prepared for the fourth round. But just as they were about to lunge at each other, the air in the hall shifted abruptly.

An immediate tension crackled in the space around them.

Both Liam and Mabel’s eyes darted around instinctively. Then their senses flared—intense, unignorable. Before either could speak, Liam turned sharply, his free hand already raised in a flicking motion. In an instant, he summoned an Umbra Star and launched the miniature black sun toward the far end of the hall.

Simultaneously, Mabel extended her free hand and released a barrage of razor-sharp water blades, sending them in the same direction as Liam’s black sun.

The attacks collided with the same spot. The Umbra Star pulled in surrounding matter before detonating in a silent, concentrated implosion. Mabel’s water blades ripped through the smoke immediately after, slicing through the remnants of the explosion.

Neither fighter let their guard down. Their eyes scanned the area, weapons ready, breath held, anticipation thick in the air as the smoke began to thin.

Then, a voice echoed from the dispersing mist.

"That’s not such a warm welcome, now is it?" the voice said, calm and measured, laced with dry humor. "Well... technically it was warm. And also... cooling. But definitely not nice."

As the smoke cleared, a shimmering green portal revealed itself at the edge of the hall. From it, two unfamiliar figures stepped forward.

The first was a tall man, roughly the same height as Galen. His long dark brown hair fell just past his shoulder blades, and a well-kept beard outlined his strong jawline, bordering on a full, thick brush. His emerald green eyes shimmered with a strange serenity—though there was a subtle undercurrent of unease in them. He wore a long, dark green robe traced with intricate silver embroidery, giving him an air of refined authority.

Behind him stood a woman, appearing to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She wore a neatly pressed dress of white and green, her posture calm and statuesque, like a loyal attendant trained in grace and discipline. Her bob-cut hair framed a composed expression that never once strayed from the man she followed, standing just a measured distance behind him like a shadow.

Liam and Mabel didn’t lower their weapons. Their bodies remained locked in place, tense and razor-focused, reading every shift in the air for even the faintest hint of aggression.

The man, unbothered by the tension radiating off them, only let his smile widen with amusement.

"How rude of me not to introduce myself," he said with a casual ease that sent chills up their spines. "I am Sylvathar, Demon Lord of the Gaia Demons."

At the mention of his name, Liam and Mabel’s instincts spiked. The tension in the hall thickened. Their grips tightened, their minds racing. Now it was no longer speculation—they were in the presence of a Demon Lord. A being that, from raw myst alone, was clearly stronger than the two of them combined. And worse, he wasn’t alone. The woman who stood beside him—elegant, calm, but brimming with silent menace—seemed just as dangerous.

’How the hell did they get here?’ Mabel thought, her eyes unreadable beneath her half-mask. Her mind, however, was sprinting through a hundred calculations.

The defenses of the Tempest Palace were among the strongest in all of Amthar. Wards upon wards, sensor crystals, even passive spatial locks made it practically impossible for any unregistered myst signature to slip through. For someone of Sylvathar’s magnitude to appear here—in the underground wing—without setting off any alarm? It was supposed to be impossible. And yet, here he stood.

But what truly disturbed her wasn’t just his presence—it was the lack of any response. No knights came charging in. No emergency sirens or defensive countermeasures kicked in. It was as if the rest of the palace didn’t even realize what had occurred.

’He may have only just arrived, but with how suffocating his presence is, someone—anyone—should have noticed.’

But no one did.

That could only mean one thing.

’They’ve veiled this space... removed it from the physical realm entirely. We’ve been cut off. A high-tier isolation spell—probably spatial. It won’t last more than five minutes... which means they’re here to kill us before it drops.’

Mabel’s instincts burned with clarity, but she needed confirmation. She needed to be absolutely sure.

Sylvathar’s voice cut through the tense silence again, still impossibly calm. "Would you do me the same courtesy and share your names?"

There was no command in his tone. No threat. Just a serene expectation, like he already knew they wouldn’t answer—but was giving them the illusion of choice.

Neither Liam nor Mabel responded. But they did brace themselves even more, their muscles tightening beneath their clothing as they steeled for whatever came next.

In the next instant, Mabel vanished.

She warped to the far corner of the hall, then again, appearing midair near the ceiling. She warped once more, reappearing beside Liam exactly where she had stood before. Her breaths were steady, but inside, her heart raced.

That confirmed it.

No matter where she tried to go, no matter how far she warped, she couldn’t exit the room. Her ability—normally near-limitless in range—had been reduced to spatial displacement within a sealed bubble. Even if Liam tried using Shadow Passage, they’d reappear somewhere else inside the same space.

They were locked in. No exit.

And all of this had taken place in less than a minute after Sylvathar had asked their names.

Meanwhile, Liam had remained still, equally silent. His thoughts weren’t any less sharp. He was analyzing, calculating—working out possibilities. His first instinct was escape. But after seeing Mabel warp and return with no success, he knew it was futile.

’This veil... it was just like the one in Tynoon’s eastern district. A fabricated layer of reality placed over the real one.’

And that memory brought something else back.

Galen’s words.

"You managed to break through the veil because you weakened Mourne while simultaneously striking at the center of the weave. It was a fluke—but a lucky one."

That gave Liam a new idea.

The first step? Identify the caster.

He didn’t need long to figure it out.

His red eyes flicked toward the woman standing silently behind Sylvathar. She looked passive, but Liam could feel it. Her myst signature was laced with Gaia energy... and spatial affinity.

She was the veil-caster. No doubt.

’Most of her myst is spatial-based. Definitely the source. This whole chamber is her construct.’

He activated Mystsense, focusing on her core. What he saw confirmed it—flow patterns too perfect, too refined, like the inner gears of a spell far too large for a single mage to cast without deep mastery.

He tried to use Mystsense on Sylvathar next... but all he could see was a blinding, incandescent glow. Not a core. Not even an aura. Just overwhelming, radiant myst. Too much to analyze. Too much to make sense of.

It was like trying to stare into the sun.

Which only reminded him: they were face to face with a Demon Lord. And right now, they were completely at his mercy.

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